


It's Time For Me (to Fall Apart)

by guineapiggie



Series: Happy Endings (are just stories that haven't finished yet) [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Divorce, Drug Use, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Post-Divorce, Prompt Fill, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Voicemail, this one's messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie
Summary: Four hours after she boarded the train in Philadelphia, she’s drunk a few too many shots of vodka to keep count and has done some two to four lines of cocaine. (Jesus, it’shardto keep count, and why should she? It’s not like there’s someone waiting for her. It’s not like there’ll be someone sitting at the kitchen table in the dark when she comes back, giving her a look out of dark tired eyes that is all anger and worry and sadness and hurt and affection bundled into one. So why the hell should she be keeping count of anything?).Jyn tries to forget, and gets lost in a dark place. The next morning, there is nothing left to do but pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imusuallyobsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imusuallyobsessed/gifts), [randomdreamer01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdreamer01/gifts).



> This was inspired by a prompt by **imusuallyobsessed** \- who wrote a fic on the same prompt herself called "It gets worse before it gets better", go have a look, it's great! - and also, like this whole series it is also inspired by **randomdreamer01** 's series "Where's my love?" and, like "Before It Gets Better" this includes a few lines from the wonderfull Fall Out Boy song "Miss Missing You". The title's from there as well, once again.

 

The thing is, she has a whole week before her next job, and quite a lot of money from the last one.

(The thing is, she’s sick and tired of everything, and she has nobody to talk to and there’s a ring missing from her finger whose absence throbs like an old injury.)

(The thing is, she’s so tired of being this sad divorced person. The old Jyn had fun, or so she remembers. She wants to be that Jyn, and why shouldn’t she try to be, just for one night?)

The thing is, it’s not too long a ride from her current address in Philadelphia to the glittering lights of the casinos in Atlantic City, and she’s not yet thirty and she can tell herself she deserves this. A little party. A little gambling. A little sex, maybe.

It’ll be just like old times.

And maybe the throbbing will stop for a few hours, that’s all she wants. Just a few hours of peace.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Now you’re gone, but I’ll be okay_  
_Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flame_  
_Maybe I’ll burn a little brighter tonight_  
_Let the fire breathe me back to life_

 

* * *

 

 

Four hours after she boarded the train in Philadelphia, she’s drunk a few too many shots of vodka to keep count and has done some two to four lines of cocaine. (Jesus, it’s _hard_ to keep count, and why should she? It’s not like there’s someone waiting for her. It’s not like there’ll be someone sitting at the kitchen table in the dark when she comes back, giving her a look out of dark tired eyes that is all anger and worry and sadness and hurt and affection bundled into one. So why the hell should she be keeping count of anything?)

The music is very loud, but she doesn’t mind. Her head feels all the more hazy for it, which is good, because she’s still chasing that peace she was looking for. So far, the pain is only dimmed, not gone, and she’s mostly wondering if it takes more vodka or more coke to make it go away.

She settles for a little bit of both. That doesn’t quite do the trick, but the world gets a little more blurred still and then she’s on the dancefloor and there’s someone watching her out of dark, dark eyes, and she _knows_ that’s not him – but she is smashed enough to pretend.

It ends in more drinks, something sweet and sticky that makes her want to vomit a little, and hands on her body that don’t touch her right, but close enough to pretend. If she squints.

She can squint.

It ends in something very messy and very clumsy and altogether deeply dissatisfying in some kind of hotel room, and no matter how much she _wants_ to pretend, it’s not enough.

(It’s not what she needs.)

She has brief memories of her phone ringing while she wanders around the dirty, glittering streets between all the rest of the drunk disgusting people – presumably _before_ she started puking her guts out, but there’s no way to be sure.

She’s pretty sure that was Chirrut there on the phone, even though that’s weird because he’s in China and she doesn’t know what time it is in China but it’s probably a strange time to call a friend you haven’t seen in a few years.

But then again, Chirrut was always a little strange like that.

She thinks they spoke about Cassian – well, what the fuck else would she talk about? – and she thinks she had some kind of epiphany in the middle of it, but she can’t remember what it was.

That’s all she remembers. And it’s already too much.

 

* * *

 

She wakes mostly because she’s sick. _Really,_ really sick. But also because her entire body hurts like hell, but her cheek hurts a little more, and when she slowly brings her hand to her face without opening her eyes, her fingers find a bruise over her cheekbone. She must have hit her head somewhere.

Rather unwillingly, she blinks her eyes open and finds it’s not as blindingly bright as she expected it to be. She lies still for a moment, takes far too long to assess her surroundings, until she realises she fell asleep on the floor in a train station.

How embarrassing.

(Then again, it’s February. She might have frozen to death outside during the night, so she should thank her high self for that, presumably.)

She very slowly fights to her feet, crosses the – mercifully short – distance to the next waste bin and throws up again. The acid burns in her mouth, and she has nothing to wash it down.

She makes her way to the exit with unsteady steps, suddenly overwhelmed by all the other people, and comes to a halt in a quiet corner around the back of the station.

Vaguely, she wonders what time it is. She pulls out her phone to find she’s switched it off, and remembers why with a pang of _something._ It might be guilt.

_Cassian._

She turns the phone back on, which seems to take forever, and is greeted by a whopping 68 missed calls and messages from her mailbox.

She doesn’t know what possesses her to lift her phone to her ear and listen to it.

“ _You have thirty-two new messages,”_ says the automated voice and she lets out a little wail. _Shit._

She can’t remember a lot of what she’s said the previous night to Chirrut, but she remembers enough to know it wasn’t good. (She may or may not have come to the conclusion that the entire world would be decidedly better off without her in it. And she may or may not have told Chirrut as much in no uncertain terms.)

The first ones are Bodhi, getting progressively louder and more hysterical, telling her Chirrut called him and that he’s worried and that she needs to answer her phone. Then there are more from Chirrut, in a quiet but deeply worried tone, and then there’s Baze calling from the same number. They’re both talking about Cassian quite a lot, which makes her remember another fragment of last night’s conversation:

“ _He won’t come, he doesn’t_ care, _he told Bodhi as much himself. It’s over, Chirrut, don’t you get it? We’re fucking_ divorced, _you don’t get much more_ over _than that. It doesn’t matter if you call him. He won’t come.”_

She throws up again.

Then the next message comes, before she has time to recover, and to her immense surprise –

_“Monday, 13 th of February, 01:36 AM”_

“Jyn. We need to know where you are and that you are alright. Please, whatever the hell you’ve ingested _or_ injected, get back to us immediately before Cassian suffers a heart attack or bursts an aneurism.”

Kay sounds annoyed – that is _not_ new, God knows – but he also sounds very tense. And that’s very much unheard of.

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 01:57 AM”_

“Jyn. _Call me back_ or I will put you out as missing person.”

_“Monday, 13 th of February, 02:06 AM”_

“I will put you on nationwide alert if I have to, and I’m not above filing it triple homicide, that usually gets people to look properly. _Call. Us. Back._ ”

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 02:44 AM”_

“Jyn, it’s Bodhi again – please call as soon as you hear this. I’ve called Kay, and Cassian, and they’re trying to find you, so please if you hear this, let us know where you are, we’ll come and get you.”

_“Monday, 13 th of February, 03:02 AM”_

“Bloody _fucking_ hell, Erso, pick up your _goddamned_ phone, I am not _fucking_ joking!”

Jyn involuntarily flinches back from the phone a little. She has seen Kay resort to full-on foul-mouthed-Brit mode a few times, but even after all these years she can count the times she has heard Kay raise his voice on one hand.

The next few ones are Bodhi again, then Baze, then –

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 03:46 AM”_

“Jyn. Listen. You don’t have to tell us where you are and I don’t need to know what you’ve done the past few hours – just call and tell us you’re alright.”

His voice is full of thing barely held back, which is not like him at all. Her knees give way and she slides down the brick wall – not a good idea – to sit down on the floor.

That voice, once again, makes everything better and worse, all at once.

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 04:01 AM”_

“That’s it, Erso. Police are on the lookout for you, don’t blame me if you get arrested, because arrested is better than run over on a busy intersection and since you were tripping balls when Chirrut called you, that seems like a likely outcome. If you have some part of your brains left still functioning – _fucking call us._ Cassian is going through the roof, and I’m honestly worried for the both of you at this point. Call us back!”

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 04:13 AM”_

“Jyn, it’s Bodhi again, please give me a call. We’re really worried. If you’re in trouble, that’s okay, we can help you, if you’ve fucked up, it doesn’t matter, we’ll sort it out, nobody’s angry with you. We’re just really, really worried. Please answer your phone, Jyn. Please pick up.”

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 04:29 AM”_

This time, it’s Cassian’s voice again, worn-out as always, too hoarse, too quiet.

“Call, Jyn. Tell us you’re okay. I… whatever you think of me right now, Jyn, _please_ – for old time’s sake, call. Send a text. Just. Just let us know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 05:10 AM”_

“Jyn, if you hear this, just _please_ call me.” His voice is shaking a little, and it’s the scariest thing she’s ever heard. Cassian’s voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t give out. Her empty stomach clenches. “Jesus, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me and you don’t have to, I… I’m going _mad_ with… Call me back. I told Bodhi I was _trying_ not to -  I didn’t want to make everything even worse. I thought if we didn’t meet for a while, it would get easier. For both of us. I just couldn’t stand to see you like that anymore. But I also said I’d always come for you, and I should have kept that promise. I’m sorry, Jyn, I should’ve - Tell us where you want us, we’ll be there. Call me back, text me, anything, just please, honey, _please_ just get back to me. Please, Jyn.”

She buries her throbbing head in her arms and whimpers a little. _Oh God._

There are more messages, from all of them, getting progressively more frantic. One of Cassian’s is all Spanish, and she doesn’t understand a word. And then, possibly worst of all –

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 07:42 AM”_

“Jyn, this is my fault, I know, I… God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jyn. I should have… Please call me, Jyn, just call, we’ll find a way, somehow. I’ll do anything, just call me. I’m sorry, this is my fault, I’m so sorry, I... I love you, you know that, right? Call me. Just call me.”

“Oh God,” Jyn whimpers and clasps her hands over her mouth, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh God. Oh God.” She can’t stop herself from listening to the next, and the next, and the next…

“ _Monday, 13 th of February, 09:38 AM”_

“Jyn. You have to call your friends, little sister. They’re all going insane with worry. So are we, but call them first. There is an obstacle in your path, Jyn, it’s not the end, you just have to get past it. And we will help you. We’re your friends and we love you. Call home, Jyn.”

 “ _Monday, 13 th of February, 09:42 AM”_

“Jyn, this is Bodhi. For what is probably the twentieth time. I’ve been on the phone with Kay for hours. He’s filed you as missing. Cassian’s going nuts. I should’ve gone with you. I should’ve made you stay at my place. You’re my best friend. I should’ve been there for you more. This is my fault, not yours. I knew you weren’t okay and I didn’t make you…” There’s a strangled little noise and her heart breaks. “I don’t know where you are, but I should be there to… put you in recovery position or something. I really hope you just got smashed someplace, because if you are, you’ll wake up soon and call us back. Jyn, whatever happened, if you hear this, let us know you’re okay, that’s all we’re asking. I’m sorry, Jyn. I’m sorry, I should’ve been there – We love you. Nobody blames you. Just call us.“

 “ _Monday, 13 th of February, 09:49 AM”_

“Jyn, we have our fair share of evidence you were in Atlantic City last night and if you don’t get back to us by noon, we will come after you. You do not want that. I haven’t slept all night and I’ve had to confiscate Cassian’s phone, he’s on a very unfortunate combination of espresso and whiskey and if this progresses any further, I might need to have him sedated or possibly hospitalised, and Bodhi is calling me every half hour. I’m tired, and pissed. Call us until noon.”

He sounds pissed, and tired, but also… worried. _Kay_ sounds _worried._ Deeply worried, in fact. Jyn feels sick. She can’t believe this is happening, not again, she can’t believe she went ahead and made two grown men cry on the phone, _again._

(By rights, a small voice in her head says, she wouldn’t be around to hear any of that. She’d have quietly suffocated in some dark corner on her own vomit, if she had an ounce of decency in her body. She would’ve gone quietly, she would’ve just stopped to put up such a goddamned fight, and given them all their lives back. She’s already stolen far too much.)

She glances at the clock in the corner – eleven forty-two – and leans her head against the wall. There’s something she can do that doesn’t include being chided like a child. Something that doesn’t include people _relieved_ to hear her voice when she’s kept them up all night, when she’s made them go crazy with worry – they’d still be _glad_ to hear from her even though all she does is hurt them.

The world is a severely messed-up place, she thinks.

_\- You [11:46]_

Kay, this is Jyn. I’m alright. I got high and  fell  
asleep. I’m fine now. Taking the train home. Call  
off that manhunt. Calm everyone down. I’m  
alright.

 

She’s halfway through typing a message to Bodhi when her phone starts ringing. She hits _ignore_ and continues typing. Kay calls again.

She grimaces. _Ignore._

 

_\- You [11:48]_

Hi Bodhi, please calm down. I’m sorry I worried  
you. I’m fine. I was just trying to have a little fun.  
I’m okay. It’s NOT your fault.

 

Kay is still calling.

She lets it ring, pockets the phone and pulls her jacket tighter around herself. Tries to concentrate on finding her way back inside the train station and getting on the right train.

Her phone keeps buzzing in her pocket, and it’s worse than the throbbing in her head.

 _I love you, you know that, right?_  
She rubs her eyes dry with the sleeve of her jacket. She hasn’t had nearly enough sleep, and she’s shaking a little, she’s cold and dehydrated as all hell and “feeling like shit” seem far too small a word.

She should at least text him, she knows that, but she can’t bring herself to do it. Not after what she’s heard. Not when she has his voice in her head and feels so sick because she went and did it again.

It just doesn’t stop.

How does she keep doing this to the people she loves most in the world?

How does _everything_ she does just hurt everyone?

The phone is still buzzing.

~~All Jyn really wants is to crawl into a corner and just fade away.~~

 

_\- You [12:03]_

Hi Chirrut, I’m sorry for that call, I was kind of  
on a bad trip… that’s not an excuse, I know I’m  
too old to do this, but I just wanted to forget  
everything for a while. I’m sorry you had to  
listen to all that. I let everyone know I’m okay.  
Thank you for everything.  
Give my love to Baze. I’m really sorry.

 

The landscape speeds by outside and Jyn leans her forehead against the dirty window and closes her eyes.

_I love you, you know that, right?_

She has to delete that voicemail, as soon as possible. She refuses to wind up as one of these girls who keep replaying the same thing over and over, pretending they could have the time back when the right answer would have been _Of course I know that._ When she’d have any right to reply _I love you too. More than you know. More than I deserve._

“I’m the worst person in the world,” she tells the windowpane in a dead whisper, and fights down the tears and the nausea. “If my parents could see me, they’d be ashamed.”

Her phone buzzes again.

 

**(3) new messages**

_\- Kay [11:49]_

Jyn, this is Kay. I will not call anything off until  
I see you or hear you answer your phone.  
Call me.

_\- Bodhi [11:50]_

Thank God, we were so worried!!!! Are you  
okay? Can I help you in any way? Do you want  
to come stay at my place for a little while? I  
can take a few days off if you want. It’ll be just  
like old times. It’ll be alright, Jyn. I promise.

 

_\- Chirrut [12:06]_

We’re glad you’re alright, little sister. Let your  
friends help you. You need each other. You can  
call us anytime.

 

Jyn sighs and shrinks a little more into her seat.

She doesn’t deserve any of these people. Not one of them, not even Kay.

“I am a really, truly horrible person,” she mutters to nobody in particular, and squeezes her eyes shut. Curls up on the seat and passes out for a few minutes.

 

**(3) new messages**

_\- Bodhi [12:07]_

Jyn – you still there? Could you maybe call me or  
something? Have you eaten anything?

 

_\- Kay [12:09]_

Jyn, call me. I need to confirm we found you.

 

_\- Cassian [12:10]_

Are you hurt? Did anything happen while you  
were out of it? Can you remember everything?  
Do we need to get you to a doctor?

 

She groans softly and closes her eyes again. She is a horrible, horrible person who does not deserve these people.

_Put yourself together, damn it. At least enough to give Kay a call._

Kay is moderately safe. He won’t let her know if he’s glad to hear her. He won’t try to take the blame. He will probably yell at her, but God knows she deserves that.

It takes her another five minutes to dial and press call.

“Hi Kay. This is Jyn. I hereby confirm I am alive and well and on the train to Philadelphia right now. That suffice?”

“ _If that fucking suffices?_ ” he repeats in a deadly quiet voice. “There are a lot of things I would like to tell you right now – _leave it, let me talk!”_ he snaps to someone at his end of the line. Cassian. Who else?

“Did you consume anything that needs medical follow-up?”

“Kay…”

“Did you get into contact with unsterile needles, drugs of questionable origin or anything you didn’t recognise?”

“Kay…”

“ _Answer the questions.”_

She sighs. “I didn’t inject anything, Kay,” _not that I know of, anyway, things got a little blurry there towards the end,_ “uh, I bought coke from a very respectable dealer with little to no knowledge of the English language, but I’m pretty sure it was actually coke.”

“Cocaine. Great,” Kay sighs. “But I guess that could have been worse. Did you have unprotected sex with anyone?”

There’s a muffled response somewhere in the distance at the other end of the line that sounds very much like a string of Spanish swearwords.

“That’s none of your fucking business, Kay.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You – what – _no –_ “

“Do you still have your valuables? ID?”

She glowers at her feet. “Fuck you.”

He remains silent. She groans, and caves in. Because she may not deserve it, and he may be an enormous asshole, but goddamn it, hearing the voice of someone who cares even just a little about her feels… nice.

“ _Yes_. Nothing missing.” _Well, except a few hundred dollars._

“Good. Physical injury?”

“I’m having the hangover of a lifetime and I think I fell at some point. I look like shit, but I’m fine.”

There’s a very quiet sigh at the end of the line, and it stings quite a lot to realise that _James Kay_ of all people is _relieved_ to hear she’s not hurt.

“Alright, _Jesus,_ yes, alright, Cassian. _Fine._ You two will be the absolute death of me," Kay's voice comes closer to the microphone again, "Jyn, I’m going to pass you over, but before, tell me you’ll go home and finally get your shit together.”

Jyn whimpers. “Kay, I – don’t give him the phone.”

His voice drops to a tense whisper. “Do you have _any idea_ what you’ve just put him through –“

“ _Yes,_ ” she replies just as quietly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “That’s why. I’ll just make it worse, Kay. Keep him away from me. We both know he’s better off without me so keep him _away_ from me. Tell him I’m sorry – no, don’t. Don’t say anything.”

He sighs. “For the record, it’s too late for that. But alright.”

“Thank you, Kay,” she breathes. “I _am_ sorry, though. Believe me. I am.”

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I believe you. Let someone know when you get home.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up, and Jyn tries her best not to cry.

She wrings her hands in a way she’s got far too used to, tasting the pain of not feeling the ring there on her finger where it _should_ be.

No. _Don’t be stupid, Jyn._

 _Shouldn’t_ be. It shouldn’t be there. Because she’s _divorced_. Has been for two years.

It shouldn’t be there, but it still feels like it should be.

She feels so lost, and she’s still so sick, and there’s still the horrible taste of vomit in her mouth, and the realisation she’s _had_ sex with some guy she doesn’t know a single thing about is doing nothing to make her feel any less gross. Her head is spinning.

She gets the phone back out.

 

_\- You [12:40]_

Bodhi? You still have it, right? You’re keeping it  
safe for me, don’t you, you haven’t lost it?

 

Bodhi, sweet Bodhi who’s like a little brother to her, who she’s put through so much, too much, replies in a matter of seconds. Always, always there for her, no matter what she does. If only they knew how much that means, even though she can’t give anything but pain in return.

 

_\- Bodhi [12:41]_

Of course I still have it. It’s very safe in  
my nightstand in that horrible book  
you gave me for my twentieth  
birthday.  
You don’t want it back, do you? I’m not  
sure that’s a good idea, Jyn.  
Are you okay? Eat something. Drink  
water. Are you at home? Go sleep.

 

_\- You [12:42]_

Will be in Philadelphia soon. Am starving,  
will buy something at the station.  
Believe me, I WILL sleep.

 

_\- You [12:49]_

No. Don’t want it back. Just want to know  
it’s safe. Thank you, Bodhi.

 

 


End file.
